


Masks

by War_Lioness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_Lioness/pseuds/War_Lioness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A strong man breaks, examines his life and beliefs and rebuilds what he can in the midst of a war that threatens to destroy everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masks

It’s a sort of ache behind your sternum, Loneliness.

The kind that can crawl up your throat and choke you when you’re least expecting it. It makes your voice thick and keeps you from screaming out the way you want to. Keeps you from telling the world you’re dying inside. It keeps the polite social mask up preventing you from showing everyone around you how miserable you are.

Loneliness’ partner in crime is Pride. Pride that will NOT let these people around you see your weakness. No, the last thing you want is those oh, so solicitous voices asking “Whatever is the matter?” and “Are you quite alright?”

No, you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’ll be damned if you let them see you flinch. That mask is as firmly in place as the other was, the one you used to hide your features.

Then, you wonder if you’ve already let it slip? Do those sidelong glances mean they’ve found a chink in your armor? Is it possible they know? They see?

No.

Your solitude is as complete as ever. You’re an island in a sea of people. They simply look and wonder as you cruise among their ranks, a barracuda among minnows, King of your own little pond.

Fools.

Let them wonder, this is your world.

And here is Pride’s jackbooted, goose-stepping minion, Control. It makes you dominate the game, for if you control the game no one will question you. It is Control that keeps your in your exalted position.

You grow weary of the party, the entertainment stale and joyless, and return home, if you care to call that mausoleum you live in “home”.

Yet, even here, the mask cannot slip.

In the face of your wife’s arctic chill, you must maintain your appearance of calm. Even she, the one physically closest to you, cannot see the emptiness behind your eyes. Or if she does, she attributes it to other things. Why would _you_ be lonely?

Pride rides you like a dark horse until you are lathered, then puts you away wet and shivering.

There are times when you wonder if you have ever been free, completely free, of the demons clawing at your heart, chewing on your soul.

When you can no longer stand the emptiness that pervades your ancestral home you flee; though no one would dare use that word, especially to your face. You go to the place you found as a boy that soothed your raw and bleeding spirit.

It is a place where Loneliness is transformed from a force that separates you from every other living creature into something that connects you with the universe. High up on a mountainside, it is a perfectly round clearing where the bones of the mountain thrust through the thin soil, positioned ideally to view the heavens.

As a youth, then as a young man, you came here frequently to contemplate the constellations and the stars that made them up. It would comfort you to consider how a star exists in total isolation, yet from a distance fits into a larger pattern.

There, laying on the cold rock you could share the star’s solitude. For if a star can exist light years away from its fellows, so too could you. Perhaps you too, fit into a larger pattern.

Your seat on the stone is worn smooth, as though countless generations before you had come here to ruminate on the nature of the universe. Doubtless there will be uncounted generations to come who will do the same.

It was not long after you found the hidden spot on the mountainside you discovered it on a map. You laughed softly to yourself when you learned the name it had been given: _Desolation Point_.

How apt.

It has been years, decades even, since you last visited this sacred spot yet your feet never falter. You could find the way blind and deaf.

Tonight the Point is not empty. It would seem another has discovered the cold comfort of the stars.

She is young, not yet the woman she is destined to become, and frightened. She stares at you like the rabbit before the hawk.

You ignore her.

Here, in this place, you are not that man. Only here, are you yourself, no masks, no artifice. It has been too long since you last came here; it hurts to drop the mask.

You find your old place on the rocks, one that allows you to view the guardian of the Hesperides’ orchard unobstructed. Though you are familiar with all heaven’s inhabitants, this one is your favorite. You gave its name to your son, praying that ever vigilant grouping will guard him as it has guarded Polaris for eternity.

She leaves soon after.

You stay there, lost to the wonder of the stars until the first rays of the sun begin to banish them one by one until only the heavens’ seductress remains. You return to your home – you have no need of her false star.

As time passes, you find yourself revisiting habits from your school days. At times you go to the clearing every night, at others there may be weeks between visits. In time you find the Loneliness does not plague you as it once did. Your mask is a little easier to bear.

Sometimes the girl is there. In the beginning she nearly always left immediately after you arrived, but gradually she begins to stay longer, forgetting her initial terror. In time she becomes comfortable enough to sit on your rock with you, and you share your solace with her.

You rarely speak during these interludes, though as time passes she shares pieces her life with you. You learn of the two friends she believes hung the moon and stars. You hear of their petty squabbles, her whole world. You learn about the boy who teases her mercilessly.

You offer what consolation you can, you teach her to construct a mask to prevent those who would see her brought low from gaining satisfaction. You teach her to let the insults and derision land without touching her inner being. You show her to tap the source of her strength and project it.

Together, you both find comfort in the stars.

You are … at Peace.

Then, just after discovering that Peace, Hell on Earth returns.

You feel the burn you had hoped was gone forever and for a moment, only a moment, you consider not going. Yet you know that if you do not return to him great harm will befall not only you but your family as well. The Ice Queen at your side can handle herself but your son …

You curse your father for getting you involved with this madman as you gather your masks, both physical and psychic, for the night ahead.

You are forced to lean on your Control heavily that night to keep your mask in place. You bless your father, in the moment the Abomination tears the physical mask from your face. Thanks to his early teachings you may be hag ridden by his forcibly instilled virtues but you have no need to cling to a physical mask to keep the psychic one in place.

Your features are carefully schooled into a mask of hatred and evil glee as you watch the Abomination toy with the boy, taunting him. When the duel begins in earnest you pray it ends tonight, that the Abomination will fall the night it was resurrected.

Your prayers are in vain. The boy escapes and you are left to pick up the pieces of your shattered life.

You maintain your mask.

Over the next year you return to Desolation Point more frequently. You had forgotten, in the years after the Abomination’s fall, the intensity that surrounded the man.

No longer king of the pond, you find yourself a barracuda swimming among sharks. So you change your mask. Guarding that inner self you had only recently rediscovered on the mountainside, you adapt, evolve and fight your way to the top.

Control becomes less a taskmaster than an invaluable ally in the war you wage daily to keep that small corner of your soul free of taint. You use Control as the hammer to ruthlessly shape your Pride, Hate and Fear against the anvil of Duty into a marvelous and terrible mask.

It is perfection.

It is nearly your downfall.

In that year you are once again elevated to the post you once held with honor, the Abomination’s right hand. You do not want to be there yet it is from there you can work towards your ultimate goal. You know his left, your dark twin, is actively working against him. This furthers your plans, so you say nothing and behind your mask you plot to help him on his quest.

You were once the bright Lucifer to a Dark God, foremost among the Angels of Hell. Yet you fell, (or were raised? ) and now work towards the Abomination’s destruction.

You travel more often to your lonely mountainside, attempting to nurture that small grain of Peace into a beach, an inner Paradise to withstand your frequent trips into Hell.

There, in the winter chill, you build a breakwater around that fragile beach, your mask.

When the Abomination gives you a mission and a team to retrieve an object from the boy you gladly accept, knowing you can further your own plans to break free of everything. If you take possession of this object you can buy your freedom, your path to redemption.

There in those darkened halls you wait for the Boy to arrive. When he does, you are shocked for a moment to see the girl from Desolation Point is at his side. Then you realize you should have recognized her earlier, from the book shop years ago. The one your son … it all falls into place in an instant.

The girl recognizes you as well, but you’ve trained her well. Her mask never falters. You both know that the slightest slip will be the death knell for you both. So you sneer and carry on with your initial plan.

 It fails utterly.

Your perfect mask gives the boy and his companions no indication you have no intention of delivering the item to the Abomination. There is no way they could know. In the melee that ensues you can only watch in horror as grown men, and one completely insane woman, take on mere children. You also come to the dawning realization that you care for that slip of a girl as much as you do for your son. The field is nearly yours, or rather the Abomination’s. There can be no escape for any of these children and your heart nearly breaks until …

There! Salvation!

You cannot summon the energy to do effective battle against the rescuers. As you succumb to your injuries you give up a prayer of thanks to whatever bright gods may exist that the Abomination is yet held at bay.

Your last thought before blackness overtakes you is for your family.

Prison strips you of everything – your humanity, your identity, your mask.

You cannot see the stars from your cell, there is no window. In time you begin to doubt they exist. You are tormented by your failures. Not the one that landed you here – that was a triumph. No it is the older shortcomings that attack you.

Your failure as a husband: you drove your wife away with an insane devotion to a dying creed.

Your failure as a father: your son never knew love untainted by conditions.

Your failure as a son: you never attempted to change what your father left you into something positive, instead you continued down the same dark road.

Your failure as a friend: you led others who looked up to you down the same self destructive path you were on.

Your failure as a man: you failed to take a stand on your own two feet, relying on your father, and later the Abomination, to guide you in thought and deed.

And worst of all, your failure as a human being: you knew, somewhere deep in your soul, the path you were on was a destructive one and you never cared.

Until now.

As you revisit each failure time and again, the fortress of your pride, prejudice, hatred and fear crumbles a little more until all that is left is a ruin, foundations built on sandy soil. Then, even those foundations are gone and you are at last prepared to rebuild.

You dig deep, to the bedrock of your being, and lay the foundations for a new fortress on Faith, Hope, and Love.

Faith that humanity will strive to create a better world for all, not just those lucky enough to be born into power.

Hope that your son will lean to overcome the wrongheadedness of his upbringing earlier than you did.

Love for your wife, son and the little girl who learned to look past your reputation to see the frightened and lonely man beneath on a cold mountainside all those years ago.

You emerge from your imprisonment a new man to any who had eyes to see, though your mask is still in place.

Now is not the time to discard it.

The woman you thought icy and cold is the first to recognize the light in your eyes. The year you were gone has been difficult for them. Your conviction is tempered to diamond hardness as she relates the misery your idiocy has wrought.

You WILL break free from this!

As a fresh hell, the Abomination has taken residence in your home. A mausoleum it may be but it is your home and now there is nowhere you can go to be free of the Madman and his insane followers. You, and those you cherish, must keep your masks in place at all times. You remember the credo of one of your former enemies – “Constant Vigilance” – and you laugh inwardly with a black humor at how very well it fits into your life now.

It is not long after your precious wife tells you of how your son was nearly manipulated into orchestrating his own death, that your Control is sorely tested. Already off balance from the night’s earlier revelations you nearly betray yourself to the Abomination. The damned creature had thought to use your son as an effective means of punishment for last year’s failure. You have seen him since and your mask was nearly undone with blind rage at the creature who had taken the bright laughing boy you remembered and turned him into this frightened weeping wretch. 

Thankfully, your wife reminds you that this is not the end of all things. The Abomination may yet be destroyed as long as the Boy lives.

Since your release you are no longer a shark, or even a barracuda in this pond and his ridicule has become routine. Yet, somehow, when he takes the very thing that makes you what you are away it is still a shock. Only your wife’s cool fingers on your wrist keep you grounded, your mask firmly in place.

You make a single abortive gesture and he completes your emasculation, laughing in your face, all of them laughing with him. You want him out of your home and away from your family with every fiber of your being but tell him that and you sign your own death warrant and that of your family.

It is your mad sister-in-law that inadvertently pulls your bacon from the fire. Ever the sycophant, she draws the spotlight of his scorn away from you. You thank whatever gods there are in existence that her particular brand of insanity keeps her from being able to see beyond your surface mask and you are able to repair the cracks that nearly betrayed you.

The following months are torture.

You try desperately to protect your son from the insanity that has infected your home. The previous year’s failure has put him at higher risk than most and the Abomination seems to delight in forcing him to torture others who do not live up to expectations. The implicit threat that all of that and more await him should he fail again hangs over his head like Damocles’ Sword with a dangerously frayed thread.

 Finally he leaves to return to school and it is only you and your wife. You can both handle yourselves in these circumstances. You know what is expected of you. You witnessed others in similar situations years ago, before the Abomination fell the first time. You only pray there will be something left to salvage when he finally falls for good.

You cannot go to Desolation Point to drop your mask. You will not leave your wife alone to face your tormentors. So you find a new path to Peace in each other. In your rooms in the manor, in the depths of the night you gently remove your masks and comfort one another.

There, in the Despair, Fear and Pain, Love truly blooms, cementing your bond to this woman for the first time in your long years of marriage.

You would die for her and she for you.

Together you plot a way to escape the confines of this hellish bargain neither of you truly entered into willingly. If the Abomination dies in the process, so much the better.

There is a moment, in the early Spring, when you are certain it will all come to an end. The Boy and his companions are brought to your home. You cannot hide the excitement in your voice and features so you disguise it as a sycophant’s unholy joy. Everything will be forgiven indeed! Here is your salvation!

Your wife’s mad sister nearly ruins it for you, when she lays eyes on the sword. The bitch is beyond insane when she begins to torture the girl. You can do nothing but watch as she writhes in pain on the floor.

You are amazed at her stamina, the ability to take so much pain and yet you see she is never broken. Though she tells you little, even you cannot tell the lies from the truth – and you are a consummate liar. You are proud of her in that moment.  Even in the face of great pain and an aggressor who cannot be reasoned with, though she knows who you are, she keeps both her secrets and yours behind her teeth.

You seize on the one thing she says that can break the cycle of torture and questions. You know if you can just gain a reprieve for the youths they will come out on top. They have more lives than a cat, those three.

When they escape, leaving your front hall in ruins, you are fiercely proud as the Abomination takes his displeasure out on you. You relish the pain, drinking it in knowing you are one step closer to freedom.

You can sense the end is coming. It is a feeling in the air, like the first breath of fresh air in a long closed tomb.  There is now an overwhelming sense of fear from the Abomination and thankfully he leaves your home on a mission known only to himself and you can breathe a sigh of relief.

Your son is away at school now and your dark twin is headmaster. He is the one who kept your son from failing last year, killing for him on that windswept tower, and is unlikely to allow harm to come to him now.

It is a small comfort.

You feel the call when the final battle finally begins.  When you arrive to the battle field you are momentarily stunned.

The School – Your Son’s school.

No, this cannot happen here, you MUST find a way to keep him safe from the carnage that is to come. You plead with your hated Master to let you go to the front lines … and are rebuffed.

A temporary cease fire is called to allow each side to gather their fallen and dead. You know there had to have been an evacuation, something. Yet, in your heart of hearts, you knew the idiot boy would still be there trying to “prove his worth” to the Abomination.

For the millionth time you berate yourself for passing along your father’s idiot ideals to your son.

 What did family honor mean when there was no family to carry it?

What did blood purity mean when there was no one to carry the line to the next generation?

What did fealty and duty mean when they were given to a madman?

Nothing.

Then the Boy arrives in the clearing the Abomination has taken as a temporary headquarters and you know it will be over soon. His glance passes over you, taking in your exhaustion, and passes on. He has accepted his fate.

No one is surprised when the Abomination kills the Boy. You cry out as he falls, the last hope of being free of this madness falling with him. It is lost in the general outcry at the same moment, as both the Boy and the Abomination fall.

For a moment you think somehow the Boy managed to kill your hated Master in the moment before he fell, but no, the Abomination was moving feebly, your mad sister in law crouched at his side attempting to rouse him.

In moments he is awake and standing. The Boy remains in the position and manner he fell, clearly dead. Yet the Abomination is not satisfied and orders your wife to check him for signs of life. You dare to hope it is a ruse to get the Boy close enough to kill with his hands. Hope is fleeting when your wife confirms there is no life in the body.

You watch, mask firmly in place as the Abomination defiles the body and orders the giant of a man captured earlier in the night to carry it out to the school where the last defenders are gathered. You follow along, too drained and shocked to do much more than maintain your mask. There will be time in the future to make plans for after the battle, when you ensure your son is safe and unharmed.

Your wife falls in next to you, touching your sleeve. You fall back and she whispers in your ear. _Our son is alive and in the castle._

You look sharply at her, wondering how she could possibly know … the Boy! The Boy lives and she lied to the Abomination in return for information.

Your smile now is genuine, not the fake one glued in place since the Abomination began celebrating his opponent’s demise.

You look up and realize the night is clear and the stars bright, but you no longer need their cold comfort.  Your family will soon be reunited and Freedom is at hand.

When the Boy reveals himself, you know this is your moment to act. Throwing away everything you stood for over the last three decades you tear through the battle, your wife at your side, calling for your son.

Friend and foe alike are cast to the side as you run down corridors you last traversed years ago when you were a student here. You search franticly through the melee. There has been so much damage and there are so many battles being fought, miniatures of the war at large, that you fear your son, though alive when the Boy last saw him, has fallen in the interim.

In the end you see him, and he is the only thing you see as you and your wife tear through a knot of fighters like a freight train, the slender woman showing the legendary strength available to all mothers defending their young.

He is safe at last and in your arms.

The world could end right now and you would die a happy man.

In a way the world did end.

The Boy at last did what you hoped he would do in the graveyard all those years ago. You hear the victor’s cheers as you lead the most precious things in your life to the hall. There you allow yourself to relax for the first time since the nightmare began.

The last of your masks drop. You clutch your small family to your side, fear and apprehension written clearly on their faces as you wonder if there is a place for the three of you in this world. So much is uncertain at the birth of this bright new world.

All has been upended but there is one thing you know beyond a shadow of a doubt – you are FREE!


End file.
